


Perception

by cumberpatchcats



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Other, Shopping, Trans Character, courfeyrac and jehan are gross, gratuitous amounts of giggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberpatchcats/pseuds/cumberpatchcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is passable.</p><p>Bahorel is not.</p><p>(TWs for slight transphobia, severe gender dysphoria, and use of the "T" word)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception

There she is.

Jehan and Courfeyrac are sitting across from each other at the café, holding hands and giggling like a pair of fools in love and really they’ve been dating for nearly four months; you’d think they’d have gotten over their lovesick phase by now.

Jehan is sitting with her legs crossed, her short white skirt draped carefully across her dainty lithe legs. Her pale blue camisole accentuates her quite nicely, and the messy braid draped lazily across her shoulder completes her bright summer look and she is very, very passable and Bahorel hates her.

Okay, Bahorel doesn’t hate her. It’s pretty impossible to hate Jehan—she’s mature and poetic in a slightly morbid sort of way but surprisingly fun and an A+ friend to practically everyone in the universe, and she is irrevocably beautiful. Her eyelashes are long and luscious, her fingers long and elegant, her hair long and soft, her legs long and hairless, not to mention her blessed feminine facial features dotted with adorable little freckles across her cute little nose and cheeks. Really, the only thing giving her away right now would be her Adam’s apple, but only if you were really looking, and it’s really not as prominent as she pouts about it being. Other than that, she can pass for a totally flat chested woman—and even that problem is going to be fixed pretty damn soon.

And Bahorel? She’s the person that people walk by and do a double take because “is that a _tranny_?”

And really, who can blame them? Bahorel is tall and stocky with broad shoulders and a square jaw. Her throat is thick and her Adam’s apple is so pronounced you could probably see it from space. She tried long hair, but it got thick and succeeded in making her look like a hippie. She can never get her face as clean shaven as she’d like. Her waist doesn’t taper and her calf muscles are huge, and it’s not fair that Jehan gets to look like _that_ while Bahorel looks like _this_.

So yeah. Bahorel hates Jehan. Not that she’d ever say anything to her, because they love each other so much, but seriously. It’s a deep envy that Bahorel will probably never get over.

She watches perfect Jehan stand up with her perfect boyfriend to walk towards the entrance hand in hand like the perfect couple they are.

“Where are you going?” Bahorel inquires, not because she’s curious as to where they’re going to go have sex or anything, but she’s been bored for about an hour straight and she needs _something_ to say.

Jehan breaks out into an adorable little grin and does a little hop in place as she squeezes Courfeyrac’s upper arm and chirps “I’m picking up my first hormone prescription! Isn’t that exciting?” And Courfeyrac just beams at her like she’s the greatest thing in his life—which she is.

Bahorel knows she should be happy for Jehan. Jehan’s been talking about this for months and it’s a really, really big deal, but Bahorel just feels a tiny knot twist in her stomach because it’s not _fair_. Jehan doesn’t _need_ hormones. She already looks like a woman. She has the body. She has the face. She is a woman. Taking estrogen won’t change anything, Bahorel is sure of that. Estrogen doesn’t change shit. What does estrogen do? It grows boobs. It doesn’t change your voice, it doesn’t get rid of your Adam’s apple, it doesn’t alter your bone structure, and it doesn’t turn your penis inside out. If Bahorel took estrogen right now she’d be a stocky man with really out-of-place boobs that don’t belong on her body. Trust me, she’s contemplated taking hormones, but by then life was too late and her body was already irreversible. Hormones aren’t a big deal, so she doesn’t know why transgender females always get so excited about shit like that.

But Jehan is a friend, and Bahorel isn’t a shitty friend, so she flashes the happy couple a polite smile and wishes Jehan the best of luck.

\---

Jehan doesn’t really talk about it much. Or at all.

Months later, the words ‘hormone’ or ‘estrogen’ haven’t been uttered even once around their little group of friends, but their results are definitely noticeable.

Jehan is naturally a stick, so there isn’t much fat to redistribute, but it seems like what little there is seems to be subtly piling onto her chest. She doesn’t draw attention to it, and neither does anyone else, like they’re unconsciously not even noticing, but Bahorel sees it. And boy is she jealous because it seems like every time she sees Jehan, Jehan’s boobs are bigger, and she knows she’s probably just magnifying things but really it’s just not fair because if Jehan didn’t look like a real woman before, she does now.

It’s Grantaire who mentions it. He slides in next to Jehan at a bar one evening slightly (more than slightly) drunk and points blatantly at Jehan’s chest. “How are those working out for ya?”

Jehan shrugs and takes a sip of Courfeyrac’s ridiculously fruity drink. “They get sore. But I love them.”

And with an arm thrown around Jehan’s shoulder, Courfeyrac chimes in with a “yeah, they’re fun for everyone,” and they both do that really creepy thing where they simultaneously smile at things that shouldn’t be smiled at.

Bahorel snorts a little louder than she had intended, and suddenly all eyes are on her.

Jehan frowns. “You know, you could always get yourself a pair too,” she says to Bahorel with one hundred percent sincerity.

But Bahorel only shakes her head and stares at her beer. “Naw. They’d look like shit on me.”

“No they wouldn’t, I’m sure they’d be fine,” Jehan assures her, reaching out to take Bahorel’s thick, masculine hand into her own thin, soft fingers.

Bahorel snorts again, but doesn’t move to pull her hand away from Jehan’s. “You’re one to talk. You’d look good in sweatpants and a wife beater. You couldn’t look more like a _real_ girl if you tried.”

Jehan’s jaw drops as she is stunned into silence, her arms dropping limp at her sides and her Adam’s apple bobbing up and down once with a huge gulp. In opposition, Courfeyrac’s jaw tightens and he glares at Bahorel as if warning that he’s not above using violence, even against friends, and even though Bahorel looks like he could snap Courfeyrac in half like a twig. Not that Bahorel ever would because she’s secretly passive as fuck, but really, people should look at her and feel scared. Not that she wants them to, because she really doesn’t want them too. All she wants is to be a pretty little lady, like Jehan, but she can’t because she’s the manliest man to walk the Earth.

It’s so frustrating Bahorel stands up abruptly, glares back at everyone until they feel slightly uncomfortable and intimidated because _look at her_ , and then she’s up and storming out of the bar without another word.

Combeferre is there in a flash, a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder to try to loosen him up. “What happened?”

Jehan blinks a couple times. “I think I just got insulted.”

“By Bahorel?” Combeferre asks in disbelief.

Jehan shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. She might be drunk. I’m sure she didn’t mean it. I’ll go talk to her.” She gets up to leave, but is stopped by a firm hand on her wrist.

“Uh, babe,” Courfeyrac starts in a rather concerned tone. “I know you like being helpful, but I’m sure the last person she wants to talk to right now is you.”

Jehan frowns at her boyfriend. “And I think that, given the current situation, I’m sure the only person she _can_ talk to is me.”

“Are you sure?” Because Courfeyrac certainly doesn’t sound sure.

Jehan sighs and gives Courfeyrac a quick peck on the lips. “Trust me sweetie, you can’t know what she’s feeling right now like I do.” And with that, she gets up and begins to walk away, pulling her purse over her shoulder.

\---

Jehan knocks about ten thousand times give or take a few before Bahorel finally opens the door. And neither of them look very happy.

“It’s hot as _fuck_ out here,” Jehan whines, wiping less sweat off her brow than she would have been wiping before she started taking her precious hormones.

“Good,” Bahorel snaps bitterly. “I hope all your makeup melts off.”

“It’s waterproof,” Jehan retorts. “And you know, you’re one of my best friends and I’m not taking any of your half-assed insults to heart,” she starts as she pushes her way into Bahorel’s apartment.

Bahorel shrugs, slamming the door behind her. “Maybe you should. It’ll be a nice change since you’ve had your whole life handed to you on a silver platter.”

Jehan snorts as she sets her purse down on the floor and helps herself to a seat on Bahorel’s couch with her legs crossed. “You think I’ve had my life handed to me.”

“You know what?” Bahorel yells. “I’ve had it with you and your easy happiness. Some people are actually struggling around here and you’re pretending like you know what we’re going through.”

“I do know what you’re going through,” Jehan tells her, crossing her arms over her chest and Bahorel can’t help but notice the way her breasts push together slightly.

“No you don’t,” Bahorel snaps. “Look at you! You’ve looked like a girl since day fucking one and nobody’s ever questioned it. And look at me, I’m the loser people stop and stare at because all I look like is a fucking rejected drag queen. You don’t know shit. You’re always going to pass for a girl and nobody ever takes me seriously when I acknowledge my preferred pronouns because I will never, ever look the part! When you walk into the women’s bathroom you blend in perfectly fine, but if I ever even dared to try I’d get arrested!”

Jehan stands abruptly, fists forming at her sides. “Shut up. _Shut up_. You don’t think I’ve had issues? We _all_ have problems, Bahorel. We’ve all cried over it, we’ve all wished we could have just been born in the right body, but you know what? Sometimes, some of us actually make an effort to change ourselves, starting with our state of minds, and those of us who do learn to accept our bodies for what they are might end up actually happy for once in our lives.”

Bahorel opens her mouth as if to make another argument, when Jehan begins again.

“I’m taller than Courfeyrac, did you ever think I might be self-conscious about that? Hell, I’m taller than _you_. You might see a woman, but sometimes when I look in the mirror all I see is my damn throat and the massive _lump_ in it that everyone says isn’t noticeable, but it is to me. You didn’t know me when my voice cracked and I told my mom I was going to kill myself and she had to hide all the pills and kitchen knives for three months. You don’t know how many schools I switched to try to find one group of friends, just one, that accepted me for who I am. I wore lipstick the last day of seventh grade and ended up getting thrown into a literal trashcan.”

Bahorel snivels. “First day of seventh grade I wore a ribbon in my hair and got my head dunked in the toilet.”

“They decorated my locker with slanders and mock poetry about ‘trannies,’” Jehan countered.

“They spit on me every time they passed me in the hallway.”

 “They cut off my ponytail in the middle of biology.”

“They passed me notes telling me to kill myself.”

“You too?”

At that, Bahorel raises her eyebrows. Jehan looks at her with an almost amused expression, sitting back down and returning to her crossed-leg position.

Bahorel stutters for a minute, unsure of exactly how to carry out the conversation.

Jehan stares at her pale pink painted nails and frowns at one nail whose paint had begun to chip away. She inhales sharply and simply says “there.” Then she turns her gaze to Bahorel once more. “Anything else you’d like to say to me?”

After a brief moment, Bahorel finally opens her mouth. “Besides ‘sorry’?”

Jehan frowns deeply at her. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do though,” Bahorel says as she takes a seat next to Jehan. “I should never have attacked your personal life like that, especially after you’ve been through so much to get to where you are now.”

“You’ve been through a lot, too.”

Bahorel nods. “Yeah. You have to admit though, you do make it look really easy.”

Jehan smiles at her warmly. “It is. It’s a lot easier than you’d think.”

Bahorel snorts in disbelief and turns her head to look away. “Yeah right. It’s pretty damn difficult to walk out in public freaking out about whether you’re passable or not.”

Jehan gives a light chuckle and waves a finger in front of her. “Uh-uh, you see, the trick is that you don’t give a flying shit about what others think. You make yourself passable enough for you and screw the rest of the world.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jehan repeats. “You’re a pretty lady, and maybe with a little fixing up you could be a drop dead gorgeous woman, and if someone tells you otherwise then you have the right to either punch them in the mouth or give them a stern talking to, whichever you’d prefer. I personally enjoy the punch-first-ask-questions-later approach, but whatever floats your boat.”

“I’m terrified, though,” Bahorel admits.

“Then let’s go shopping.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Don’t you want a pretty skirt to show off those sexy legs of yours?”

Bahorel can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Kind of…but I mean--,”

“No buts,” Jehan cuts her off. “It’s you and me all afternoon with my credit card and we’re going to get you a cute skirt and a hot blouse to go with it and you’re going to feel like the most gorgeous girl in the world. Understand?”

And Bahorel is so speechless by that point all she can really do is nod and blink rapidly.

So they do go shopping. For hours. And they do get stares, and glares when they start snooping around Victoria’s Secret, and Bahorel gets embarrassed and stares at her new black ballet flats, but Jehan slaps her back, tells her to man up and take it like a girl, and suddenly Bahorel can’t hear the whispers anymore.

They get back to Bahorel’s apartment with about four new outfits where Jehan sits Bahorel on the floor and fusses over her. “Finishing touches,” Jehan says as she drags a bright pink lipstick across Bahorel’s upper lip.

They wind up in fits of laughter on more than one occasion, about really relatable things that really shouldn’t be funny.

“Christ yeah, having the talk with my mom over why I couldn’t pee sitting down was the most awkward moment of my life.”

“To be fair it is really difficult.”

“Oh god, _I know right_?”

“Or, or when you finally get the guts to confide in someone and the only thing they ask is ‘have you gotten the _surgery down there_?’”

“Yes! That’s the absolute worst!”

With a few more dabs of concealer, Jehan proclaims her masterpiece done. She stands Bahorel up and brings her over to a mirror. Standing behind her, Jehan puts gentle hands on Bahorel’s shoulders and grins. “Now I hate to go all West Side Story but _seriously_ , who’s that pretty girl in that mirror there?”

Bahorel is completely dumbstruck. She’s in a faded yellow sundress with a cinched waist, two metallic bracelets on her right wrist and nails painted aquamarine. Her short hair is curled and a lot less unruly than usual, and her skin is smoother than ever before. She brings a hand to touch her face, marveling at the person she sees before her.

Her shoulders are still too broad. Her neck is still too thick. Her jaw is still too square. But the dress makes her waist seem smaller than it actually is and the pink lipstick brilliantly accentuates her cupid’s bow, which Jehan deems as actual perfection. Standing next to a gorgeous specimen like Jehan, Bahorel still feels kind of ridiculous. She still feels like she looks like a man wearing women’s clothing. But it’s a step forward. She likes the way the dress feels on her, she likes the way her bare legs brush against each other under the skirt. She likes her hair tamed and curled, and she really loves that damn lipstick. She’s going to have to borrow that from Jehan pretty much every day.

“This is the part where you start crying and thanking me for being your guardian angel,” Jehan jokes as she fixes a stray curl on Bahorel’s head.

Honestly though, when Bahorel touches her cheek she realizes she _has_ been crying, and for a moment she panics because she’s afraid of her mascara running, but then she realizes it doesn’t even matter anyways because _who cares_? Bahorel feels kind of pretty. That’s what matters, and that’s who cares.

“Thank you,” Bahorel squeaks as she bursts into tears.

Jehan looks vaguely horrified for a moment. “Oh my God I didn’t mean it literally. Stop that. Sssh. You’re beautiful, now be happy.”

Instead, Bahorel just turns around to grab Jehan and pull her into a massive bear hug that practically knocks the wind of out Jehan.

But they hug it out and everything’s fine. Everything’s beautiful.

Jehan leaves with a big smile on her face, a giant smile that Bahorel returns wholeheartedly because they’re friends, and that’s what friends do.

\---

When Bahorel walks into the café in a leather miniskirt and black high-heeled boots, of course everyone stares.

She has a momentary mental drawback, but then she sees Jehan flashing her a thumbs up, so she inhales and exhales sharply, and begins to stride towards her friends in as much confidence as she can muster.

She sits down between Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who are both transfixed on her. She pretends to ignore their stares, until Combeferre speaks. “I like the lipstick.”

Bahorel is taken aback.

But she doesn’t have time to process Combeferre’s comment because Courfeyrac chimes in with a “yeah, red is a good color on you.” And it finally dawns on her that they hadn’t been staring at her judgmentally in the least bit. And she feels like crying again. Great.

“Hey, listen,” Bahorel begins. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. What I said to Jehan. It wasn’t a very friendy thing to do. I’m sorry I implied Jehan didn’t have any problems, because I know she does. I just…I was blind for a moment.”

Combeferre puts a comforting hand on Bahorel’s back and flashes her a warm smile.

Courfeyrac seems a little tense at first, but soon relaxes and takes a swig of his coffee. “And I guess I’m sorry for staring you down. I mean, I guess I was just upset because that’s how I get when people accuse Jehan of having this perfect life. Because it’s not, trust me. I know she puts on this constant façade of eternal happiness, but in the end she’s still a dependent little girl who still cries about her insecurities.”

Bahorel nods in agreement.

“Plus, you know, her hormones have kind of been giving her trouble lately.”

“Really?” Bahorel raises a sharply shaped eyebrow.

Courfeyrac nods and takes another sip of coffee. “Migraines and such. And her boobs are still sore, yet she’s still crying about them not being big enough. A few nights ago she was actually terrified that I’d leave her if they didn’t grow as much as she wanted—isn’t that ridiculous? As if she’s ever getting rid of me. It’s a constant uphill battle; then again I suppose that’s what life is supposed to be.” He shrugs as if he hasn’t said anything of real importance.

Bahorel glances over to where Jehan and Enjolras are discussing notes on something or other. She sees the way Jehan’s eyes glow and the way her smile radiates around her like everything good in the world should. It’s hard to believe such a perfect girl could be in fact not so perfect, but it was the truth. Jehan has her insecurities and her issues, but she also has a good heart and a desire to help others and not burden them with her own problems, and that’s not always necessarily a good thing, but Bahorel understands.

Bahorel isn’t exactly sure where to go from here. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be as confident in her body as Jehan appears to be most of the time. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever want to take hormones and grow sore boobs and suffer headaches. But maybe she will. Who knows. In the end, Bahorel is content with just taking things one step at a time.

A few moments later, Jehan is clinging to Courfeyrac like a magnet and peppering kisses all over his face. “Whatcha guys talking about?” She asks between kisses.

“You,” Courfeyrac admits, hooking his arms around Jehan and pulling her into his lap. “And how amazingly perfect you are.”

“You stop that,” Jehan says sternly, but it’s hard to take seriously when she’s smiling so wide and poking Courfeyrac’s nose.

Courfeyrac pokes her nose back and returns “ _you_ stop that.”

“I asked you first.”

And just as Bahorel is ready to leave and vomit out the painfully blinding love, Jehan turns to her and flashes her a grin wider than ever before, if that was even possible. “Those boots look good on you.”

And Bahorel just beams back and replies “yeah. Yeah they fucking do.”


End file.
